What did it do to your sense of reality to inhabit this tight, sterile space?

“Anyone want to take a guess?” I said.

Valerie said, “They don’t know nothing. It was me saw her leave. Only.”

I walked closer to her. More giggles. “Did you talk to her, Valerie?”

Silence.

“Did she say anything at all?”

Reluctant nod.

“What did she say?”

“She had to go out, someone would take care of us.”

One of the other girls elbowed her neighbor. Valerie said, “You got a problem?”

“I ain’t got no problem.” Quick retort, but meek voice.

“You better not.”

Wascomb said, “Now, let’s keep everything calm, young ladies.”

Milo said, “What about Mr. Daney? When did he leave?”

“Drew left before,” said Valerie.

“Before Cherish?”

“Yesterday. She got mad at him.”

“Cherish did?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What was she mad about?”

Shrug.

I said, “How could you tell she was mad?”

“Her face.” Valerie looked to the other girls for confirmation. Pointed at a bespectacled girl with thin straight hair. The girl began making squeaky noises with her tongue against her teeth. Valerie’s glower failed to stop her. My smile did.

I said, “So Cherish was mad at Drew.”

Valerie stomped her foot. “Trish?” Pointing at a pretty, long-legged girl with boyish hair and a fine-boned face marred by acne.

Short for “Patricia.” Lactose-sensitive. Special help with reading and penmanship.

She didn’t answer.

Valerie said, “You can tell she’s mad from her face. Say that.”

Trish smiled, dreamy-eyed. Her pajamas were sky blue with white eyelet borders.

“Say it,” demanded Valerie. “Her face.”

Trish yawned. “She never got pissed at me.”

“Just at Drew,” I said.

Another girl said, “He didn’t come home last night, prolly that made her mad.”

I said, “She didn’t like when he didn’t come home.”

“Nope.”

“Was that often?”

Shrug.

Valerie twisted a thick rope of black hair around her finger. Let it uncoil and watched it drop past her waist.

I turned back to her. “Was it once a week? Something like that?”

She gazed up at the mattress inches from her head. Rolled her shoulders and tapped her fingers and beat out a rhythm with one foot.

“Valerie?”

“Time to shower,” she said.

“Where do you shower?”

“The other place.”

“The main house?”

“The other place.”

“The building next door.”

“Uh-huh.”

I tried Trish again. “Did Drew go out a lot?”

“He was here except when he went out.” To Valerie: “Like when he went out with you-u.” Slowly spreading smile.

Valerie’s eyes flashed.

Trish said, “Tell him. You went out all the time. That’s why you always need to shower.”

Valerie got up from the bunk and charged her. Trish waved her long arms uselessly. I got between them, pulled Valerie away. Soft middle but her arms were tight and her shoulders were granite lumps.

“It’s like true,” said another girl.